Josh on Airports in America

 

As everyone knows, airports are fun cheery places that fill our lives with joy every time we visit one. In fact it’s well known that visitors from other countries come to America just to tour our airports and get lost in the wonder of it all. I mean why shouldn’t they? Thousands of people a day use airports, so by now of course they should be making money hand over fist and figuring out way to entertain the droves of people that pore through their lobbies and hallways daily looking for some form of entertainment to while away their happy time while waiting for their announcement that their flight has been delayed or cancelled.

 

I’m just so excited to be writing about airports today that I have nearly lost consciousness in many parts of my body that I previously didn’t know existed. I guess that is why I have to talk about a recent trip that I took to the airport.

 

I drove my car to the giant parking lot at the airport to look for a spot to park my car and then walk about a mile lugging huge baggage uphill while trying to avoid passing cars who are also looking for parking spots. In the process of parking I nearly hit someone. He didn’t mind so much I don’t think. He was probably thinking about hitting my car also.

 

I managed to find a place to drop my car off for a few days which was only so far away from the airport main terminal that I needed a periscope to find it. Fortunately the huge arrows on the ground and the smiling faces of other airport guests walking with their huge bags of luggage to the airport terminal spurred me on. Eventually I made it the top, and after taking a quick rest break, I stepped inside. I was happily greeted by dim lighting and many colors; which were all in what we call in aesthetic terms “polite”. I didn’t know there were so many shades of gray, black, and white that you could use in one place.

 

I stopped for a moment to pull out my ticket that I had purchased from on online site that advertised the lowest rates possible. In this particular case it meant that I only had to spend an hour or so to buy fare for a round trip flight going about 800 miles away without spending more than you would on a typical giant television and entertainment center.

 

After maneuvering towards the ticket counter of the airport indicated on my plane ticket. I stepped up to the counter to say hello to the patrons who would be happily sending me away on my maiden voyage. After saying hello for the second time, a large man with a small moustache told me I had to take my huge baggage to a smaller man with what looked like an x-ray machine. The airport had prominently placed the smaller man without a moustache only a few feet away from the main ticket counter, so I took my huge baggage in one hand and my small green carry on bag in the other and trudged the last two feet to the next counter where my foot promptly fell asleep and I fell over. The small man without a moustache was unable to move from his position, as he informed me, it would be beyond his duties to move from that spot. Then, he told me that he was going to take my bag and that it was only going to take a minute.  I was certainly pleased with that. Then the smaller man took a wand that may or may not have actually been used to kill Superman with and ran it through my bag very slowly. I was certain that he was merely making sure that this was truly my bag and that I hadn’t been duped by any bag switching thieves along the way to see him. After he was done he took my bag, smiled, I tipped him a quarter for his services and I was off in search of a Croisanwich, preferably one with sausage, eggs, and cheese.

 

After getting directions to Burger King from the same small man without a moustache who had attacked my bag with the x-ray wand, I walked down the hallway to the Burger King. The Burger King in the morning at the airport was the picture of sartorial splendor with travelogues, brochures to other airports I could go to, and quaint pictures of waterfowl decorating the place. I strode up to the front to place an order, and one contented employee moped over to the counter and gladly informed me that “she would be right with me” then she went back to mopping up what appeared to be a science experiment involving ice cream and beans. Eventually between nap sessions some other employee recovered from her drunken stupor long enough to crack open an eyelid, look at me and say, “Can I help you?” Fortunately, she was able to, and I managed to observe that her skills at pulling Croisanwich’s from underneath a heat lamp should stand her in good stead should she ever need to pursue employment of alternative means. I took the Croisanwich, and I ate it. It was the best Croisanwich I have ever eaten, or ever plan to eat at a Burger King inside an airport.

 

My insides were still mad at me as I wandered down the hallway to the area where they scan you and your carry on luggage, and then pat you down needlessly as if you had just prank called the police department. I was obviously hoping to avoid this form of sexual harassment this early in the morning, but it was not to be. They managed to randomly select me, the whitest most averaging looking male around, to determine whether or not if I was a terrorist who was intent on blowing up every man, woman, and child in the vicinity. They could have saved themselves a lot of needless time, and expense by just asking me point blank “Are you a terrorist intent on blowing up every man, woman, and child in this vicinity?” I would have told them no. But, maybe I’m missing the point. Maybe I’m giving back to the community by helping highly paid workers improve their sorting skills by going through my socks and underwear and looking for bombs. Eventually, I was able to get dressed, take my things, and go on my merry way to the terminal.

 

Thanks to the flight that I purchased from the web site that promised the cheapest rates which turned out to cost slightly less than a large television and entertainment center I found myself in a small dank terminal with a bunch of forlorn looking souls standing around in search of a chair staring at the old ladies wearing hair pieces who were also standing behind a small booth. Thinking this to be a good joke, hopefully something along the lines of this is just the beginning of the terminal and I have to turn around to see the really cushy chairs with the personal tv’s and remotes,  I asked one of the depressed looking old people where I was. He said, “This is it.” I didn’t mean to disagree with him but this, whatever it was, was most certainly not. Unfortunately for me, the 30 foot long airplane that arrived just as I was saying that disagreed with me and soon I found myself crammed inside a small seat in the 30 foot long airplane, buckled in, and hoping against hope that no would sit next to me. Approximately five minutes later a very large and ancient white woman with a terrible sneeze began ambling her way past various passengers until she spoke to me directly as if out of a nightmare, “I’m sorry to inform you that I’m sitting next to you.” After she nearly ruptured a tendon in my kneecap climbing past me to take the window seat, she wasted no time in introducing herself and telling me the story of her life for the duration of the flight as if she was a cocktail waitress and I was on the drunken sailor on the rebound. Very soon I was sorrier than she ever was in informing that she was sitting next to me, when I had to lean over to take a breath every few minutes. It was all I could to not pass out from joy in hearing the story of how all her grandchildren were doing when the plane began to descend. Shortly thereafter I had to get up out of the chair and leave the plane and my mirthful companion behind. I was truly saddened, and I could not bear the 2 hour wait till my next departure to my connecting flight. So I took a sleeping pill and passed out against the wall of another Burger King in the airport. As they say I had truly come full circle. Whatever that means.